


delighting in your comp'ny

by flowersforgraves



Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Gun Violence, M/M, No Sex, Suicide, Time Loop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Ruo is as Jedao remembers him: a bright light, mischievous eyes and effortless grace.Jedao watches the last half hour of Ruo's life, over and over.





	delighting in your comp'ny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).



> title snagged from 'Greensleeves' -- I'm fond of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3iE4IStfRs) rendition
> 
> thanks to Sia on discord for another set of eyes on the fic!

Jedao takes a deep, ragged breath. _This isn’t real,_ he thinks, insistent and desperate. It can’t be real, he must be dreaming, because he is sitting on the floor watching Ruo deftly flip a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns. It’s a nervous tic, one that Jedao always teased him about, but Ruo is as Jedao remembers him: a bright light, mischievous eyes and effortless grace. He is frowning at something he’s watching, out of Jedao’s line of sight. 

But this isn’t real, because Ruo is dead, has been for centuries, and Jedao is a fucking crazy bastard, even if he hadn’t been before the black cradle. But Ruo is here and he is alive and Jedao is here and he’s trying so, so hard to stop himself from rushing to get up and tackle Ruo in an embrace.

He holds himself back, which turns out to be irrelevant anyway, because he leans against Ruo’s desk instead of leaning against Ruo, but the desk doesn’t seem to register his presence at all. There’s the familiar incoming bleep of a message, and Ruo opens it immediately. All of a sudden, Jedao can hear his pulse in his ears, feel his breathing speed up, and Ruo tenses, almost in response.

The room temperature doesn’t change, but there’s a cold fear in Ruo now, and he stands up to start pacing. Jedao’s chest tightens, a creeping horror of something unknown rising in his throat like he’s going to be sick. Ruo picks up his pistol, thumbs off the safety. Jedao knows this look, knows everything that’s coming next, because he realizes when this must be, now.

He knows what the message said. He knows that Ruo is going to place the gun against his temple and squeeze the trigger.

He does not know, until he sees, that Ruo puts the gun in his mouth first. He does not know, until he sees, that Ruo cleans his gun before he presses the muzzle to his head. He does not know, until he sees, that Ruo’s eyes are open when he fires.

Jedao can’t stop himself from crying out as he sees Ruo fall to the floor. Sightless eyes stare up at him as he moves to Ruo’s side, beautiful in death as in life. Ruo is dead, and Jedao has watched him die, and he shuts his eyes to avoid thinking about how much he would like to shoot himself too.

And then he blinks, and he is sitting on the floor watching Ruo deftly flip a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns. He swears under his breath, soundless, because it’s the same, everything is the same as it was just a few minutes ago. _It’s not real_ , he thinks helplessly.

He watches, again, as Ruo frowns at his messages. He watches, again, as Ruo puts the gun in his mouth, and then cleans the pistol, and then dies with his eyes open and a self-inflicted gunshot wound in his head. He watches, again, beautiful warm eyes with no life left, and aches to take Ruo’s place.

He bows his head, and then he is sitting on the floor watching Ruo deftly flip a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns. 

There’s a sick kind of joy twisting his heart. This time, he’s going to act, because he wants Ruo to live ( _Jedao wants to die_ ). This time, he will assess it as a tactical problem, because Ruo should not have died like this ( _if Jedao cannot kill himself then why should Ruo get that luxury_ ). He’s the Immolation Fox, the most feared man in the hexarchate’s history, and he’s never lost a battle. He’s not about to start now.

Besides, he’s acting more like a petulant, jilted cadet than an officer. Very unfitting for the Immolation Fox.

Ruo is frowning at the screen now. Jedao stands up behind him and says, “Vestenya Ruo.”

There’s no reaction. Jedao reaches out for him, and his hand closes on Ruo’s shoulder, but there is still no indication that he is aware of Jedao. Jedao goes to shake him, to no avail. He can touch Ruo as much as he wants, but he can’t reach him.

Ruo is standing now, beginning to pace back and forth, and it will be time for him to pick up the gun in a moment ( _he will pace back and forth six more times_ ). Jedao curls his fingers deeper into Ruo’s shoulders, hard enough that his hand cramps. His nails, even bitten-off as they are, should be digging into Ruo to draw blood, but there’s nothing there, not even a wrinkle in the fabric.

“Ruo,” Jedao snaps, in his best general’s voice. Ruo picks up the gun, sets the muzzle in his mouth. “Ruo!” The gun comes out, broad but nimble fingers setting up a cloth to clean it. “ _Ruo!_ ” The gun is against Ruo’s temple, and Jedao looks into Ruo’s eyes -- even as he knows Ruo cannot see him, Jedao fancies he can see his own reflection -- as he fires.

“Ruo,” he says, quiet now as he kneels next to the corpse. Jedao reaches out, cups his jaw -- he’s warm, because he was _alive_ a minute ago -- and brushes his thumb across Ruo’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry.”

A breath later, and he is sitting on the floor, watching Ruo deftly flick a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns. 

Jedao tries to hold Ruo back. He tries to take the gun. He screams himself hoarse. He clings bodily to Ruo.

He is sitting on the floor, watching Ruo deftly flick a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns.

Ruo doesn’t seem to notice any of it. Even when Jedao’s full weight is on him, he still moves as easily and fluidly as when Jedao isn’t touching him at all. The gun doesn’t move, just passes right through Jedao’s hand.

Jedao doesn’t remember how many times this half hour has cycled, let alone when he started crying. He wipes fruitlessly at his face, but he hasn’t cried himself out yet. The tears keep coming -- no heaving, broken sobs, no desperate pleading -- in silence, even while Jedao whispers _Ruo, Ruo_ over and over.

He holds Ruo, this time. Hugs him, face pressed into Ruo’s neck, lips still moving in a near-silent chant. Jedao remembers being Ruo’s lover, remembers how they had touched and kissed and fought and fucked, remembers that Ruo liked Jedao to leave marks on his collarbone. So he moves, just a bit, just enough so he can feel Ruo’s collarbone under his lips. He can hear Ruo’s heartbeat, feel it speed up, and then stop as he falls to the floor.

There are cycles where he shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch. But he’s watched his best friend commit suicide so many times now that he knows the script, right down to the second. He catches himself counting Ruo’s steps, or listening for the breath right before Ruo pulls the trigger, or the painful sound of metal against teeth. 

But, inevitably, he is sitting on the floor, watching Ruo deftly flip a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns.

Jedao loses time. One moment he is watching Ruo pace, the next he is back at the beginning. One moment he is watching Ruo clean the gun, the next, Ruo is seated again. He loses time, and he aches to make it change, somehow, in any way at all, and he does not think about how the cool metal would feel against his own temple.

For a brief moment it is there. For a split second Jedao can feel the gun in his hand, against his skull, and then it is gone, and he is too slow to pull the trigger. 

Instead, he is sitting on the floor, watching Ruo deftly flip a jeng-zai deck from hand to hand in complicated patterns.


End file.
